Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

“Martha, neither your husband nor your son are on the road to their salvation. You must redouble your own piety to the end that you may be more surely able to intercede for them with the Lord. I forbid you to mention our pilgrimage either to Eidiol or your son.”

  “I shall obey you, good father. Is it not to the end of living longer at their side that I wish to go and adore that incomparable relic?”

  “It is then agreed. Towards nightfall, you and your daughter will wait for me on the other side of the Little Bridge. Understood?”

  “Myself and Anne will wait for you, holy father, well muffled in our capes.”

  Fultrade left the room, descended the staircase with meek gravity, and before leaving the house said to the old skipper, while affecting not to look at Anne the Sweet:

  “May the Lord prosper your voyage, Eidiol.”

  “Thanks for the good wish, Fultrade,” answered Eidiol, “but my voyage could not choose but be favorable. We are to descend the Seine; the current carries us; my vessel has been freshly scraped; my ash-tree oars are new, my sailors are young and vigorous, and I am an old pilot myself.”

  “All that is nothing without the will of the Lord,” answered the monk with a look of severity, while following with lustful side glances the movements of Anne, who was ascending the stairs to fetch from the upper chambers the great coats which her father and brother wished to take along for use during the night on the water. “No!” continued Fultrade, “without the will of the Lord, no voyage can be favorable; God wills all things.”

  “By the wine of Argenteuil, which you sold to us at such dear prices in the church of Notre Dame, when we used to go there and play dice, Father Fultrade, how like a sage you are now talking!” cried Rustic the Gay, whose name well fitted his looks. The worthy lad, having learned at the Port of St. Landry about the arrest of the dean of the Skippers’ or Mariners’ Guild of Paris, had hastened to the spot, greatly alarmed about Martha and her daughter, to whom he came to offer his services. “Oh, Father Fultrade!” the young and merry fellow went on to say, “what good broiled steaks, what delicate sausages did you not use to sell us in the rear of the little chapel of St. Gratien where you kept your tap-room! How often have I not seen monks, vagabonds and soldiers wassailing there with the gay lassies of Four-Banal street! What giddy whirls did they not use to dance in front of your hermitage!”

  “Thanks be to God, Father Fultrade needs no longer to sell wine and broiled steaks!” put in Martha with marked impatience at the jests of Rustic the Gay, and annoyed at seeing the young skipper endeavor to humiliate the holy man with the recollection of the former traffic in wine and victuals in which he had indulged as was the habit with the priests of lower rank. “Father Fultrade is now the leader of the choir of St. Denis and one of the high dignitaries of the Church. Hold your tongue, brainless boy!”

  “Martha, let the fool talk!” replied the monk disdainfully, walking to the door. “The true Christian preaches humility. I am not ashamed of having kept a tap-room. The end justifies the means. All that is done in the temple of the Lord is sanctified.”

  “What, Father Fultrade!” exclaimed Rustic the Gay, “Is everything sanctified? — even debauchery?”

  The monk left the house shrugging his shoulders and without uttering a word. But Martha, angered at the lad’s language, addressed him with bitterness in her tone:

  “Rustic, if all you come here for is to humiliate our good Father Fultrade, you may dispense with putting your feet over our threshold. Shame upon speakers of evil!”

  “Come, come, dear wife,” said Eidiol, “calm yourself. After all, the lad has only said the truth. Is it not a fact that the lower clergy traffic in wine and food, even in pretty girls?”

  “Thanks be to the Lord!” answered Martha. “At least what is drunk and what is eaten on the premises of holy places is sanctified, as the venerable Father Fultrade has just said. Is it not better to go and drink there than in the taverns where Satan spreads his nets?”

  “Adieu, good wife! I do not care to discuss such subjects. Nevertheless it does seem strange to me, despite the general custom, to see the house of the Lord turned into a tavern.”

  “Oh, my God! My poor husband!” exclaimed Martha, sighing and painfully affected by the obduracy of her husband. “Is the custom not general? In all the chapels there is feasting done.”

  “It is the custom; I admit it; I said so before, dear wife. Let us not quarrel over it. But where is Anne? She has not returned from above;” and stepping towards the staircase, the old man twice called out his daughter’s name.

  “Here I am, father,” answered the blonde girl with her sweet voice, and she descended with her father’s and brother’s great coats on her arm.

  The preparations for departure were soon ended by Eidiol, his son, and Rustic the Gay, all the quicker and more cheerful for the hand that Anne took in them. A large hamper was filled with provisions and the men took leave of the women folks.

  “Adieu, dear wife; adieu, dear daughter, till to-morrow. Forget not to lock the street door well to-night. Penitent marauders are dangerous fellows. There is no worse breed of thieves.”

  “The Lord will watch over us,” answered Martha, dropping her eyes before her husband.

  “Adieu, good mother,” said Guyrion, in turn. “I regret to have caused you the fright of this forenoon. My father was right. I was too quick with my hook against the lances of the Franks.”

  “Thanks to God, my son,” replied Martha with unction, “our good Father Fultrade happened along, like an angel sent by God to save you. Blessed be he for his intervention!”

  “If the angels look like him, what a devil of a face must not the demons have!” murmured Rustic the Gay, taking charge of the hamper, while Guyrion threw two spare oars and his redoubtable hook over his shoulder.

  At the moment when, following last upon the steps of Eidiol and his son, Rustic the Gay was leaving the house, Anne the Sweet approached the young man and said to him in a low voice:

  “Rustic, keep good watch over my father and my brother. Mother and myself will pray to God for you three.”

  “Anne,” answered the young skipper in his usual merry voice and yet in a penetrating tone: “I love your father like my own; Guyrion like a brother; I have a stout heart and equally stout arms; I would die for all of you. I can tell you no more.”

  Rustic exchanged a last parting look with the young girl, whose face turned cherry-red with joy and girlish embarrassment. He ran to catch up with Eidiol and Guyrion, and all three disappeared at the next turning of the street from the lingering looks of Martha and Anne, who lovingly followed them with their eyes and called after them: “A pleasant voyage!”

  CHAPTER III.

  GAELO AND SHIGNE.

  ON THE VERY day when Master Eidiol, bound for the small port of St. Audoin, descended the Seine on board his trading vessel, two other craft, proceeding from the opposite direction, were ascending the river with forceful strokes of oars. Both these craft were of unusual shape — they were narrow, about thirty feet long, and rose only slightly above the water’s line. They resembled sea-serpents. Their prows, shaped like their poops, enabled them to advance or retreat without the necessity of turning about, but by merely placing the rudders forward or aft, according as the maritime maneuver demanded. These craft, supplied with a single mast and square sail, the latter of which was now clawed fast to the cross beam, there being only little wind, manned with twelve oarsmen, a steersman and a captain — the two “holkers” as these craft were called by the Northmans, were so light that the pirates could carry them on their shoulders for a long distance and set them floating again. Although the two holkers were of equal build and swiftness they resembled each other only in the sense that a robust man may be said to resemble a lissome lass. One of them, painted black, had for its prow ornament a sea eagle painted red; its beak and talons were of polished iron. On the top of the mast a weather vane, or, as they called it, “eire-wire,” also representing a sea
eagle engraved on a metal sheet, turned at the slightest breeze, the direction of which was indicated by the fluttering of a light red streamer placed on the starboard side of the holker and carrying the same sea bird embroidered in black. Just below the rail, which was pierced with the holes necessary for the operation of the oars, a row of iron bucklers glistened in the rays of the setting sun, which also played upon the pirates’ polished armor, that consisted of little iron scales, which, covering them from head to foot, imparted to the wearers the appearance of gigantic fishes.

  Fierce people were these pirates! Sailing over the main from the shores of Sweden, Norway and Denmark, they arrived only after some days’ journey at the coasts of Gaul. They boasted in their “sagas,” or popular songs, of “never having slept under a board roof, or having emptied their cups near a sheltered fireplace.” Pillaging churches, castles and abbeys, turning chapels into stables, cutting shirts and breeches for themselves out of altar-cloths, ravaging everything that they encountered — in this style, as they expressed themselves, they “sang the mass of the lances, beginning at dawn with the matins and closing at dusk with the vespers.” To conduct his vessel as a skilful knight manages his horse, to be able to run over its oars while in motion, and to be able to hurl three successive javelins at the plate on the top of the mast, receive them back in his own hands and hurl them up again without once missing his aim — such were some of the essential accomplishments for an able pirate.

  “Let us then

  Defy the weather,”

  so ran their sea song,

  “For the tempest

  Is our servant,

  Helps our oars and

  Fills our sails,

  Wafts us where we

  Wish to go.

  “Where we land we

  Eat the repast

  There prepared for

  Us by others;

  Slay our host and

  Fire his dwelling,

  And resume the

  Azure swan route.”

  These Northmans had for their divinity Odin, the God of the North, who promised to the brave, killed in battle, a home in Walhalla, the brilliant residence of the celestial heroes. Nevertheless, relying more on their own intrepidity than upon the aid of their God, they never invoked him. “My brother in arms and myself,” thus did Gunkator, a famous sea-king who frequently ravaged the castles and churches of Gaul, speak of himself and his fellow pirates; “my brother in arms and myself never sacrifice to the Gods; we place our faith only upon our oars and our own strength; we get along very well in that way.” Several of the chiefs of these pirates claimed to have issued from the embraces of Trolls, sea sprites, and the Ases and Dwalines, gentle fairies, who delighted in dancing by the light of the moon on the ice of the northern lakes, or in disporting themselves among the snow-covered branches of the tall fir-trees.

  Well might Gaëlo, who was in command of the black holker with the sea-eagle ornament at its prow, trust to his own strength; it matched his bravery, and his bravery matched his skilfulness. Nevertheless, what surpassed his skilfulness, his bravery, and his strength, was the masculine beauty of the young pirate chief, as, with one hand resting on his harpoon, covered from head to foot in his flexible armor of iron scales, Gaëlo stood in the prow of his vessel. From his belt hung by his side his long sword and his ivory horn whose notes were well known of the pirates. His pointed casque, almost devoid of visor, exposed his features, browned by the sea air, because no less than the heroes of the Saga, Gaëlo “never slept under a roof, nor emptied his cup near a sheltered fireplace.” It was easy to surmise from the intrepidity of his eyes, and the curve of his lip that he also had often “from dawn to dusk sung the mass of the lances,” perchance also carved his own shirt from some altar-cloth, and, who knows, more than once, burnt down an abbey after having eaten the abbot’s supper. But he certainly never killed the abbot, if the latter was defenceless and offered no resistance. No; the noble cast of Gaëlo’s face bore no trace of ferocity. Though he was of those who practiced the principle of Trodd the Dane of the country of Garderig: “A good pirate never seeks for shelter during a tempest, and never binds his wounds before the end of the fray; he must attack an enemy single-handed, defend himself against two, never yield to three and flee without shame before four” — though Gaëlo followed this maxim, he also practiced this other given by the good chief. Half to his fellow champions: “Women must not be killed, nor must little children be tossed in the air to be received for amusement upon the points of your lances.” No; Gaëlo had not a ferocious face. Far from that, particularly at this moment did his face denote the most tender sentiments. His eyes snapped with the fire of gentleness as from time to time he turned his head towards the other holker that was vying with his own in swiftness.

  Indeed, never before did pirate vessel present to a mariner’s eyes a more charming sight! Constructed in the same proportions as Gaëlo’s, only finer and more dashing, the second holker was painted white. The spare oars and the bucklers ranged in a row like those of the black holker were of azure blue. A gilded swan ornamented its prow. On the top of its mast a swan with outspread wings and engraved upon a sheet of polished copper, responded to the rising evening breeze, which also raised a streamer of azure blue embroidered with a white swan. Within-board, swords, pikes and axes, symmetrically ranked, hung within easy reach of the rowers, who were clad in flexible armor, not of scales, but of iron mail, with casques with short visors on their heads.

  Like Gaëlo, the chief of this second holker was standing near the craft’s prow, with one hand upon a long harpoon which its holder frequently used in order to turn the vessel’s head aside whenever it grazed the edges of several islets, grown with willows, that lay in the vessel’s course. This Northman chief, slenderer but as tall as Gaëlo, was a woman, a virgin of twenty years, known as the Beautiful Shigne. Like the female warriors whom she chieftained, Shigne wore an armor of steel mail so fine and flexible that it might have been taken for a grey silk. This species of tunic descended from the maid’s neck to just above her knees, and fitted so closely that it betrayed the robust contours of her bosom. An embroidered belt gathered the coat of mail around her waist, from the belt hung, on one side, her ivory horn, on the other her sword. No less plainly outlined were the Beautiful Shigne’s nether limbs, likewise encased in flexible iron mail. Her shoes were made of the skin of the sea-lion, and they were tightly laced around her ankles.

  The warrior maid had laid her casque at her feet. Her hair, of a pale blonde, parted over her wide forehead and cut short at the neck, framed in with its ringlets a daring white face slightly tinged with the rose. The cold azure of the northern heaven seemed to be reflected in her large, clear, blue and limpid eyes. Her aquiline nose, her serious and haughty mouth, imparted an austere expression to her masculine beauty.

  Before now the sagas had sung the bravery of the Beautiful Shigne, one of the bravest of the “Buckler Maidens” or “Skoldmoë” as the Northmans called them. The number of these female warriors was considerable in those countries of the North. They took part in the expeditions of the pirates, and not infrequently excelled them in daring. There was nothing more savage or more indomitable than these haughty beings. One instance, taken from a thousand others, will convey an idea of their character. Thoborge, the daughter of the pirate Eric, a young “Buckler Maiden,” beautiful and chaste, always armed, always ready for the combat, had refused all applicants for her hand. She chased them away with contempt, wounded and even killed several of them when they presumed to talk to her of love. Sigurd, a pirate of renown, attacked Thoborge in her home on the isle of Garderig, where she had entrenched herself with her female companions in arms. She resisted heroically. A large number of pirates and of “Buckler Maidens” met their death at that battle. Sigurd having at last seriously wounded Thoborge with the blow of a battle axe, she confessed herself vanquished and espoused the pirate.

  Of such a nature was the savage chastity of these brave daughters
of the North. The Beautiful Shigne indicated that she was worthy of her stock. An orphan since the death of her father and mother, both of whom were killed at a sea battle, the young female warrior-maid had been adopted by Rolf, an old Northman pirate chief, who was celebrated for his numerous excursions into Gaul. This year he had come in less than a fortnight from his northern seas to the mouth of the Seine, and was now ascending the river with the intent to lay siege to Paris at the head of a fleet of two thousand ships of war that were leisurely advancing under the strokes of their oars and were preceded by the holkers of Gaëlo and Shigne. The two had the lead of the fleet by about one league. It was the result of a challenge.

  “The arms of my virgins are more robust than those of your champions,” the Beautiful Shigne had said to Gaëlo. “I challenge your holker to compete in swiftness with mine. The arms of your champions will be tired out before my virgin mates begin to slacken the strokes of their oars.”

  “Shigne, I accept the challenge. But if the test turns against you, will you allow my holker to do battle side by side with yours in this war?”

  “You must be looking for help from me in case of danger,” Shigne answered, smiling haughtily; saying which, she motioned to her mates to bend more vigorously to their oars and to start on the race.

  Gaëlo issued a like order to his men, and the two holkers rapidly rowed away and ahead of the Northman fleet, each trying to gain the lead of the other. For a long stretch the Buckler Maidens had the advantage, but thanks to their redoubled efforts, Gaëlo’s “Champions,” as the Northman chieftains styled their men, recovered the lost distance. The sun was now sinking behind the wooded hills of one of the islets of the Seine when the two craft were speeding forward abreast of each other and with equal swiftness.